


Just Men Following Orders

by AWritersLife



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Death, Gangbang, Holocaust, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other, Punishment, Self-Blame, Violence, Working for the Nazis in the camps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWritersLife/pseuds/AWritersLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"They're just good men following orders."<br/>"I've been at the mercy of men following orders. Never again."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>What happened in the camps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Men Following Orders

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my "gangbang" square on my Kink Bingo card... even if this came out more angst than kink.

_"I'm sorry for what happened at the camps. I truly am."_  
Erik knows for a fact that the words Shaw speaks are not true. The one thing he could mean by saying that was completely, totally Shaw's fault, and there was no denying it.

Erik had thought he would be safe, after Schmidt "chose" him. He'd thought he would have some kind of protection, even when he was told he would have to go to the camps after all. He was special, though. They had him do things nobody else could. He was helping them build weapons, advanced ones that only he could create with his power. He was helping them keep the camps together. He was eager to keep his "safe" status; there was nothing they requested that he could not do under Schmidt's guidance and training, and very little that he was not willing to do.

In fact, there was only one time he had ever denied the Nazis' requests, and he had paid very dearly for his mistake.

 _We have something for you to do,_ he had heard. They'd led him to the building where they were keeping a group of prisoners; as Erik looked at them, he counted at least half a dozen yellow Star of David patches on their uniforms. He was wary when they ordered, _chain them up,_ because they didn't need him to chain up prisoners, but he did as he was told. There was a wrench in his heart when he noticed that one of the prisoners was just a boy, younger than himself, no older than seven. 

_This is all they want,_ he told himself. _It has to be._

The same heart that had wrenched for the boy froze when he noticed the gun one of the Nazis had just carried in. He could feel the metal; there was something wrong with it, mechanically. He dreaded the thought that came to his mind, yet he knew it could be nothing else that they had planned. They wanted him to fix the weapon and execute the prisoners. Fear and anger and a crushing sadness filled him as he remembered his mother, as he remembered the hole in her head. Usually, the image only brought the rage he needed to get a job done when his powers were being exceptionally difficult; this time, though, a chilling calm set upon his shoulders, a determination he'd never felt before.

"Nein." The word was so simple, and for all the times it had stuck in his throat after his mother had died, it came easily now. He had done so much for them; he had built weapons to kill soldiers that might have otherwise saved him, his people and all the other prisoners. Killing helpless, defenseless prisoners... the boy...

He wouldn't.

The calm, threatening tone of Schmidt reached him: _"Erik, this is what you must do. They are not as forgiving as I am. They will punish you most severely."_

 _"I cannot kill my own people."_ He didn't care for the pleading tone in his own voice, but he turned to face Schmidt all the same. _"I was at fault for my mother's death. I admit to it. I know that truth... but please, sir,_ please _convince them..."_ He trailed off as Schmidt shook his head. No. He was saying no. He would not stop them.

He was grabbed, bound, gagged; they forced him to his knees and made him watch as they fixed the gun themselves. Tears filled his eyes as each and every prisoner was shot; with every bullet, he was reminded by the soldiers holding him that this was his own fault, that their blood was on his hands. He wondered if they knew they were truly breaking him. He didn't doubt it. He had hoped it would stop there, that witnessing those deaths, being assured again and again that they were his fault as much as his mother's death had been, would be enough for all of them.

Once the only ones standing, breathing, living were Nazis, Schmidt and himself, Erik caught movement out of the corner of his eye; Schmidt came into his direct line of vision and Erik looked up at his handler. Fear struck him again when he saw the cold look in Schmidt's eyes. Unforgiving. The same look he'd worn right before he pulled the trigger on Erik's mother.

 _"Erik has already seen death, my friends,"_ he whispered in a tone Erik had never heard his voice. _"He needs more punishment than this."_ Erik could feel unease filling the room, the Nazis, himself. What was Schmidt suggesting? _"You must teach him a lesson we have not yet tried. After all... I'm sure you all miss your wives."_

There was a long moment of silence.

 _"You set us up for failure!"_ one of the soldiers finally spoke up, his tone defensive, argumentative. _"Why would any of us do that? Why would anyone risk becoming a prisoner themselves?"_

Schmidt chuckled, a sound that chilled Erik to his core. _"None outside this room will ever hear of it. And even so... it is an order from a higher-ranking officer than the rest of you, one that would not hesitate, that would happily kill any of you should the need arise."_ And, to prove his point, he pulled out his gun and shot the soldier who had protested.

He looked around at the other soldiers, as if expecting someone else to object, before he spoke again. _"I trust you all understand what your orders are. Bring him to me when you are done."_

Erik wasn't sure what was happening next; it was all one horrible blur for him. His mind was in overdrive. He had no sense of what was really happening to him; it felt at one moment that time was speeding up, and the next it was in slow motion. He tried to call to his anger, to try his last resort for escape. For the longest time, he only felt misery. After all, this was his fault. He had asked for this when he had said no. He had defied his master, his handler, his commander.

 _Nein._ Such a simple, _simple_ word, but at that moment, it was said in his mother's voice, in his head, and it was the one thing in the world that he needed.

This wasn't his fault. He hadn't asked for this. The thought had him realizing that _nothing that had happened to him was his fault._ Nothing. It was Schmidt... It was all Schmidt.

The blur of rage that he remembered so well from his mother's death returned, and when his thoughts cleared, he was running away from the camp, deflecting bullets, looking back at the metal building he had crushed with his own powers.

He was free.


End file.
